


Forever's Not So Long

by FrostedFox



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedFox/pseuds/FrostedFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was setting herself up for a loss, so she tilted dangerously forward and saw the glimmer of something far below. Something better.<br/>[Trigger warning for attempted suicide!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Know It to Be True

**Author's Note:**

> "And  
> you  
> already know how this will end." 
> 
> \- DeVotchKa

Abigail felt more and more helpless with each day in her new life. Her thoughts were becoming scattered fragments; memories barged their way into her reality, often set off by the smallest of triggers. She was plagued by nightmares that arrived as predictably as the geese that flew overhead each fall. She was losing control of her own mind, her own story.

She reached her destination, breathless and exhausted. It had been a long walk, all uphill, but she had finally reached the top of the cliff. 

She tripped on her way to the edge. Her foot snagged on a tree root and she fell to her knees, smearing mud all over her nightgown. The beautiful lace was ruined. It had been a gift from Hannibal, long and white and almost too delicate to wear to bed. She had always preferred pajama pants and tank tops to gowns, but it had seemed perfect for tonight.

- 

_She glanced around the small room, the peeling paint on the walls that Will had promised he would re-do for her, the empty closet - she had put her clothes in the dresser, not having enough to fill even that, let alone a closet. She looked at the creaking bed with the soft yellow sheets. She was on the cusp of being able to call this her home._

_But even knowing that the comfortable familiarity was coming didn’t mean it would come soon enough, and Abigail was quickly losing hope. She rolled the dresser drawer open, scanning the items inside to see what she felt - what nostalgia she could find there - and her eyes caught on something white and lacy. It stood out among the crisp, darker colours of the rest of her wardrobe._  

_Hannibal had given it to her, she recalled. He wanted her to have something nicer to wear than the hospital gown, and he had cleared it with the nurse. Abigail had been stuck in bed all day with visitors from the FBI, reporters, and a plethora of strangers with credentials she couldn’t keep track of coming to talk to her. The gown had been perfect._

_She had not worn it since._

_As she held the fabric in her hands, she knew it was exactly what she needed. It confirmed the tentative plans in her mind. She had to get out, but she had to do it perfectly - stage it well, like Hannibal had for her when she killed Nicholas Boyle. She was finally being given a chance to make up for that. A death for a death, she thought. She would show him what she could do._  

_She folded the cloth and tucked it into the dresser, closing it and turning back to her bed. She smiled for the first time in a while._

- 

The wind whipped at her face, blew her hair around. Abigail was reminded of when she was a little girl, playing in the woods, pretending to be one of the wild girls she had read about in children’s books. She loved pretending to be free. 

She didn’t feel like a child today; she felt old and worn down. She looked down, saw her bare feet below the muddied hem of her nightgown. Her mother would have been disappointed in her recklessness. Her mother would never feel disappointed again. Abigail found herself envious. She screwed her eyes shut. 

If she wasn’t crying, then her judgment wasn’t impaired. 

She shuddered along with a new gust of wind, wrapping her arms around herself. With her eyes closed, it was easier for her to slip into the past.

- 

_The decision to leave had been festering in her mind for some time. She had watched Will disintegrate in front of her. Having a ward and a job and so much guilt was pulling him down. She knew the feeling. She knew those depths; she had been tied there for some time._

_She wasn’t a coward. She would not have gone through with it to cut her own rope from the ground. No, it wasn’t until she saw the same rope binding itself around Will that she knew that she couldn’t stay here. Not in this house, not in this country, not on this earth._

_And so she tended to her thoughts, grew them into plans, and when details started falling into place, she knew that it was meant to happen._

_

She looked down, this time looking past her feet and down the cliff. It was far, but she could see the bottom. Some hiker would find her, most likely. They would call ... who? The police, she thought. She wondered if anyone would recognize her, if they would call Will. She hoped he wouldn’t have to see her there, crumpled and broken on the rocky surface below. 

Hannibal would come. She could picture him identifying her body, being the only one composed enough to look. He would appreciate the symbolism of it. The shattered girl. He would finally see what she really felt, see what she looked like on the inside, see what she saw. 

He was always trying to see her. 

-  

_She lifted her body off of her bed one limb at a time, careful not to let the noise of the bed disrupt Will. She couldn’t have him wake up. The meticulous plan was already in motion._

_She tiptoed out to the door, slipped her feet into her sandals before slowly, so slowly, opening the door. The creaking here was unavoidable, especially when she was shaking. She focused on her feet, on her footsteps, on completely closing the door behind her before she began her journey up the hill._  

_One foot at a time, she chanted to herself._

-

The tear she felt rolling down her cheek was from the wind. The wind and the cold, she told herself. Not emotion. Not enough to cloud any judgment. She knew what she had to do. She lifted her arms, the sleeves of her nightgown billowing out beneath her. She closed her eyes one last time, pictured herself flying. 

She didn’t need to be protected anymore. Now she could be free.

- 

_“Come on, little dove,” he said, calling her on._

_“Which one is a dove?” she asked, six years old and looking up into the forest. “The black and white ones?”_  

_“No, Abigail. Doves are white. All white. They don’t live in these forests.” She pouted, just a little._

_“I like living in the forest. I like the black and white ones. They glide best.” Garett Jacob Hobbs chuckled down at his daughter._

_“Okay, my little glider. You can be my magpie.”_

\-- 


	2. There is no Escape

If anyone were to look across the cliffs, to see the girl with her wings spread and her eyes screwed shut, they would have seen her backlit so beautifully that she lost her place in this world. She was more angel than human, more lost than present. 

But the illusion would fade with the appearance of a team of police officers, squatting on the ground, trying not to startle the girl who was already running from so much. A driver had passed by, seen the body hovering on the edge of the cliff, called the police and kept driving. His guilt had been tended to, duty fulfilled. 

Abigail didn’t notice. She couldn’t hear the quiet conversation between the officers who were debating the best way to talk the unmoving girl down from her ledge. 

Regardless of who could hear, the debate was cut short with the slamming of a car door and a frantic call.

 _“Abigail?”_  

-

_It was her first night at Will’s house._

_The building shuddered and quaked in the night. The wind picked up, blew the leaves around. The house was old, much older than Will, and it creaked and groaned and sounded like screaming._

_This was the last time she had felt so cold. So alone._

_Abigail woke up with the wind; her eyes adjusted to the darkness and registered the unfamiliar room. She started but remained silent. She didn’t sit up but instead remained paralyzed, trying to figure out where she was. Trying to figure out what she was going to do next._

_Another gust caused her to squeeze her eyes shut, to shudder deeply. She was at Will’s house. Of course she was. Abigail remembered driving here, getting into bed, falling into sleep after so much turbulence._

_She wondered briefly where Will was, why he wasn’t coming to help her. She couldn’t move - could only pull the blankets up over her ears and try to block out the sound of the wind._

-

She decided she imagined his voice, laced with worry. 

“Abigail? Abigail, don’t- don’t move.” Will’s voice demanded. She listened, if only to hear him one last time. She could hear footsteps moving closer, decided that when they arrived, to save herself the disappointment of feeling nothing, she would finally fall. She had already built up too much anticipation as it was. 

She was setting herself up for a loss. 

So she tilted forward - 

 - and was jolted back by strong arms around her torso, spinning her around and wrapping her in his arms, holding her to his chest. 

- 

_He spun her around, holding her tight and pressing a knife to her throat. He wouldn’t do it, she thought. He couldn’t do it. He was her father and he loved her and he had gone to great lengths not to kill her. He wouldn’t do it._

_And then her father started whispering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Abigail, I’m so sorry.”_

_She started to panic, eyes growing wide with fear. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready to die. She had a life planned out, so much life ahead of her. She didn’t want to die._

_But he sliced the blade across her neck._

- 

She struggled against Will’s arms - struggled as Will held her tighter, dropped them to their knees, took away her chances at escape. He held her like he loved her and after a few more attempts to break away, she gave in and broke down instead. 

The sobs came hard, her face was pressed into his shirt and he nuzzled his face into her hair and they were inextricable. Inextricable even as the police surrounded the two of them. Little to no chance at escape now. 

Another car pulled in, Abigail followed the headlights, listened to the slam of the door, and watched Hannibal’s silhouette approach. He murmured something to a police officer who let him approach the two. Will finally looked up, the panic now in his eyes. Abigail had seen that look in him before - while she bled out on her own kitchen floor. 

The difference was that this time she knew without a doubt that the emotions were real. There were no black edges to her vision. No darkness creeping in and saving her from feeling anything. This time she had to feel it all. She buried into Will’s shirt to hide from the man that approached. It was soft, the feeling of cotton that had been washed too many times. The shirt was beginning to ball up and she focused on the feeling of the fabric on her cheek. She didn’t want to see Hannibal’s disappointment at her weakness. She felt Will look away from Hannibal and back down at her, imagined the concern written across his face.

“What happened?” Hannibal asked Will gently.

“I don’t- I think-” Will stammered. Hannibal saved everyone by rephrasing.

“She is alright?”

“For now,” Will said. “She’s safe.” 

She didn’t feel safe. She felt alone.

-

_“When do you feel most alone, Abigail?” Hannibal asked in response to a complaint she had made. She felt especially talkative with Hannibal today. His office was one of her only excursions out of Will’s house. One of the only places she didn’t feel guilty._

_“Every day. I know I shouldn’t. I can see- Will is trying. He’s really trying to keep me occupied, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I think we’re both lost.”_

_“That’s understandable, Abigail. You are both new to this situation. It is natural for both of you to feel confusion. You could try talking to him about your feelings of loneliness. ”_

_“That’s what Alana said.”_  

_“She is very intelligent in her field. It would be wise to listen to her advice.”  
_

_“Wiser than listening to you?” Hannibal smirked, almost smiled at her forwardness._  

_“Alana and I agree on many things, though you may not see it. Most of our variances of opinion are in regards to you, actually.” She nodded, just once, slight enough that Hannibal might have missed it, but of course he didn’t. “I think Alana and I would both agree that you should focus on moving on, on starting fresh and creating a life that you want to live.”_

_She didn’t ask what moving on looked like. It looked like her dreams before her father held a knife to her throat. It looked like laughter and new friends and school and freedom._

-

He held her arm as he led her back to the car that Hannibal had arrived in. The way he held her head so she wouldn’t hit it on the top of the car almost made her laugh; her eyes watered with the efforts not to. This is how Will works, she thought. He was a cop, now works for the FBI, and she is another person that he is loading into the back of a car.  

The difference came when he climbed in after her, sitting beside her in the back while Hannibal went to the driver’s seat. Will laced his fingers with hers, squeezed gently. 

“No shotgun?” Abigail whispered.

“Shot- what?” Will said, concern boiling up in his voice.

“Front seat,” she said. “Shotgun.”

The joke registered and Will tried to smile. It was hardly convincing. It broke Abigail and her breathing sped, deep gasps being drawn to satisfy the demands of her lungs. Her chest burned, but if the sobs came, she didn’t know when they would stop. 

- 

_She had run away, once, when she was twelve. It was after a fight with her father. She never fought with her dad about anything. She had always been careful to stay on his good side, to be his perfect girl. She never fought with her dad._

_It had been about her mother’s cooking, of all things. It had been a particularly rough day of school and Abigail was refusing to eat the meatloaf in front of her. Her father had called her out on her disrespectfulness, had told her she would eat the food, or go to her room without dinner. Later, Abigail would entirely forget what the argument had been about. But she would remember running away._  

_She had grown tired early on in her trek and had stopped to rest her back against a tree - a birch with flaking white skin. After so much walking she had fallen asleep in the snow, and had woken to her father shaking her awake, holding her in his arms. Her mother’s panicked voice,_

_“She’s okay? She’s fine, right?”_

_“She’s safe,” her father had breathed into her hair, and Abigail felt safe. Safe and loved and happy._

- 

“You’re safe,” Will said, still holding her hand. He wasn’t telling her; he was reassuring himself. “You’re safe now.” The car continued onward, speeding and tunneling into the black void.


	3. For All That You've Done

Once the car started to move, Abigail was able to put her focus on the landscape that passed outside the window. She made herself look, really look, so that she wouldn’t cry or think too hard or breathe too quickly.

Will’s hand stroked her arm soothingly, but she had to ignore that, too, or else she would be reminded that this was not a normal drive - nothing about this was normal.

The three of them drove in complete silence. Abigail raised her hand and pressed it against the glass, reveling in the coolness and the haze that formed around her fingers. She exhaled, careful to be silent, and watched the fog spread then disappear. She wished she could go with it. 

- 

_Abigail blinked, blinked again. She ignored the wave of emotion that was on the cusp of crashing. “Does Will know?_  

_Hannibal folded his hands in his lap, leaned forward. “Of course. He is very happy to oblige. We both decided that his home would be the best place for you. He wants to help you, Abigail. He will protect you. We both will. You know this.”_

_She nodded, nodded and sat down on the couch and nodded some more and wondered when it was that she had started needing protecting._  

-

The roads twisted and turned through the thick forest. Abigail watched as the trees passed; her eyes subconsciously flicked along with them. Now she was flying, really flying. It was only when the car started slowing down - turning into a dimly lit parking lot - that she realized she was being led back to the hospital.  

Flying, but not free.  

“No, no. Please, Will,” she turned to face him. She clutched onto the sleeves of his coat. “I can’t go back.”

“Abigail,” Hannibal said from the front. Will responded before he could say anything else. 

“I think you could use the help they can give you here.”

“You could help me,” she said, staring into his eyes, watching him squirm. “Hannibal can help me. I don’t need to be here. I won’t run away again. I promise. I really promise. Don’t make me ....” 

“Abigail,” Hannibal repeated, more stern this time. “You need to breathe. You must think about this from our perspective. We don’t want to see you hurt yourself.”

“You won’t. I won’t. I promise.” She heard Will sigh.  

“What happened?” Will seemed to ask the front windshield. “What did I do?” 

And Abigail deflated, gave up, and gave in. 

-  

_Will had opened his door for her, giving a small flourishing wave that indicated she should enter. She tilted her head, smiled at him, and stepped inside the house._

_She could tell from the outside that the house was more of a cabin, and she tried to ward off any nostalgia of home. She tried not to think of her old home. Abigail had to remember to correct herself. Minnesota wasn’t home anymore._

_Now Will was watching her. She supposed she should get used to that. Everyone was watching her. At least Will did it with fondness. Still, she knew herself well enough to know she was capable of using that flicker of trust against him if she got upset enough._

_She was waiting to be upset enough. She was waiting to be messed up._

-

Hannibal opened her door for her, gently holding her elbow as she straightened up. She was exhausted. She had given up the fight. Abigail knew they were wrong, sending her back here, but she also saw that she was not going to win. Choose your battles, her father used to say. She was led from the parking lot through Emergency and up to a desk with a nurse who looked Abigail over with sympathy. 

“She has been here before. She should have a file,” Hannibal said, calm as ever. Will stood behind Abigail. She wondered if he feared that she would try to run. She wondered why he couldn’t trust her. She wondered until she realized that she had finally done it; She scared him, and that was proof enough of her dysfunction. She was messed up at last.

\-   

_Her father loved her. She had never really doubted it. He loved her and he loved her mother and he went to work every day and she waited for him to return. And she loved him._  

_All she wanted to do was impress him, to make him proud. Abigail was a normal girl - she had friends and school and crushes. She went to movies and ate candy and lived a life that was no one thought was out of the ordinary._

_Once, she had invited a few girls over for a slumber party. They were up late, gossiping about the other girls at school, debating who was the cutest boy. When they heard the descending footsteps on the stairs, they had muffled their giggles and pretended to be asleep. Abigail’s heart thudded in her chest._

_They waited, but instead of some whispered warning that they should go to sleep, Garett Jacob Hobbs had whispered that he had made them popcorn, and that he was leaving it on the bottom step if anyone wanted to have it, and that they better be having fun down here._

_And everyone had then decided that Abigail Hobbs had the best father out of the lot. And Abigail had smiled to herself and responded, “I know.”_


	4. They Poked a Million Holes

She perched on the edge of the hospital bed and allowed memories to collide with reality. She tried to blink away the memories as they passed through her vision, shook her head in an attempt to shake them out. It was a few minutes before she pulled herself together.

 Hannibal lingered by the door. Will sat in front of her. She tried to make eye contact, but he looked away. Predictable. So she still had some power when all other control had been taken from her. 

This particular power play made her feel grimy.

“How long?” She asked. 

“I don’t know,” Will answered. He sounded broken to her. She felt sorry, guilty. 

“Dr. Bloom will be here in the morning,” Hannibal offered. Will just nodded. Abigail glanced between the two of them, waiting for someone to say something. A knock at the door ended the silence as a nurse scuttled in carrying a hospital gown. 

Will watched the nurse enter and fidgeted with the edge of his coat. He stood, then, preparing to leave. Hannibal stirred as well; he picked up his coat from where he had placed it on a chair and folded it over his arms.

“Dr. Bloom will be here in the morning,” Will repeated for the fifth or sixth time - Abigail had lost count. “I’ll be here in the afternoon. I’ll be here when Alana, uh, Dr. Bloom is done.” Abigail just nodded, staring at the standard hospital gown the nurse still had in her arms. Will nodded too, though no one but Hannibal was aware of it.

Hannibal smiled at Abigail when she finally raised her eyes to watch them leave. “See you tomorrow, Abigail,” he said. 

She smiled at him, just a fraction. A parting farewell before she could breathe again.

-

_She often found herself suffocating while she was in the hospital._

_She flung the light hospital sheets away, stood up, sat down, focused on breathing, hated the counsellor who knew nothing. She knew in the hierarchy of professionals she saw, the counsellor was on a lower rung - only really there to communicate what she said to the people who asked about her, whoever that might be._

_She hated everyone, really. She couldn’t breathe and they couldn’t help. Abigail was trapped in a cycle of thoughts of her father, stuck wondering what he really thought of her. She just wanted to get out and move faster, but the cords that fed into her veins restricted much movement; she settled on sitting, standing, sitting, standing, until the sobs in her throat were pushed back down._

_Eventually came a time when she no longer cared what her father thought, and she could only think about the fact that he was gone, and she was alone._

_-_

“She’s alone,” Will repeated. Hannibal gauged the amount of panic in his voice. A six out of ten, but rising.

“Only for a night. She’ll be fine for one night.”

“She really didn’t want to come back here. Maybe we’re making this worse-”

“Will,” Hannibal interrupted, “we are keeping her safe. No one knows what would have happened if we took her home. If she had to sit among her failed plans - it could have driven her off that edge again.”

“The edge.” Will sounded dazed. Seven out of ten.

“She’ll be safe here. It’s only one night. She has done it before.” Will nodded. Kept nodding. Yes, yes, yes, yes. “We should leave. You should sleep,” Hannibal finished. Will stopped nodding for a moment, allowing his shoulders to sag in agreement. He should sleep; he could feel that need settling deep in his bones, felt the sting behind his eyes. 

Will watched as the same nurse who was caring for Abigail left the small room. Her eyes fell on the two men in the hallway. She strode towards them as they looked on, waiting. 

“Here is the dress she was wearing.” She stopped a few feet away, handed over a plastic bag. “She should be asleep soon; I gave her medication that would help to calm her. She’ll be very comfortable until morning. I’m on shift until 5, then the morning people come on, but Abigail’ll most likely be asleep until it’s time to see her psychiatrist. Most of these cases work out that way.”

Most. Most of these cases. Like she was just another runaway. They were used to it, surely, Will thought bitterly. He suppressed what was trying to escape from his throat. He looked to Hannibal. 

“That’s very good to hear, Rebecca. We were just heading out to get a little rest before tomorrow ourselves.” 

Will’s eyes finally fell to the name tag pinned to the nurses pink scrubs. Rebecca nodded. “I was just about to recommend that very thing,” she said, smiling up at Hannibal. Will turned away. He could not stand her chirpy normality. He didn’t want to think about any of this anymore. 

- 

_Abigail had grown accustomed to the nurses that came and went. She was familiar with the doctors - trauma specialists, psychologists, and psychiatrists - who came and went. Her life was becoming routine and predictable._

_She liked asking them questions - finding out about their lives and watching them become normal people in front of her. The night nurse bred English Springer Spaniels; the surgeon had a son who had a shot at an olympic medal in cycling - the kind where you race around a track in circles. She wondered about the satisfaction that came out of something so repetitive._

_Abigail loved these facts and hoarded them under her pillow to think on as she fell asleep. She wondered what meaningless things she could tell them about herself. It would have been nice to be able to be honest._

_But Abigail lied, and her lies grew more complex as she grew to know each person who saw her. Dr. Bloom had brought it up, once - said she was using information to gain information. Abigail had smiled at that; it made everything seem so well thought-out. It made her seem in control, gave her an image of herself that was powerful, and she liked it._

_She didn’t feel powerful at all, but to know that others saw her that way felt good. A spark gone wayward to light a forest on fire. She was lit from the inside when she saw herself through their eyes. She had an occasional talent for seeing through the eyes of others; it was something she could only admire in Will Graham. What he had was a gift._

_Or, like her own mind, a heavy curse._

_While Will used his empathy for good, Abigail buried the shards and fragments of emotion deep inside of her. How could she live with herself if she had known the final feelings of her victims?_

  _-_  

Abigail sunk into the familiar hospital pillows and pulled her fingers through her now-tangled hair. She didn’t want to think about how the hospital was beginning to feel more like home than Will’s cabin. She reminded herself that the feeling would come; it would come once she spent more time there. 

She wanted to go back, to be brave and acclimatize. 

Her eyes felt heavy, so she rested them. She saw a forest in her mind. She saw deer lowering their heads and grazing. The call of a loon sounded in the distance. Everything else faded to black as the nightmares came clawing in. 

Monsters surrounded by white-feathered wings. 

- 

_Her father put his hand on the back of her neck._

_“Stop thinking, Abigail.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“You have to. If you think - if you feel, you won’t be able to take it. You’ll crack. Believe me.”_

_“I feel what she feels,” Abigail said, stroking the deer’s pelt. “I can see it in her eyes.”_

_“Empathy,” her father said, with more than a hint of disgust, “is for the weak and unintelligent. You are your own person. You are not this animal.”_

_Abigail nodded. That seemed to make sense. She was stronger than this emotion. She could be, for him._

_She pulled her hand away from the deer, pulled it back and looked at it. She was her own person. She was Abigail Hobbs, and she had her own power._

_\--_


	5. No Longer Shall You Need

Abigail was already awake when the nurse swung open her door, the buzz and hum of medical conversations flowing in with the morning light. She had been awake since early in the morning and was, at that moment, drifting comfortably between sleep and wakefulness. She opened her eyes every few minutes and watched the light coming in through the window as it grew stronger. The room was filled with light by the time the nurse arrived, holding a white plastic bag and grinning.

“We’ve been wondering when you would wake up, sleepyhead,” she chirped. Abigail decided that enthusiastic positivity must be a quality sought after in nurses. She was glad that this hadn’t been how she had been awakened.

“Is Dr. Bloom here?” Abigail asked, examining her fingernails.

“She is, but she’s willing to wait until you feel ready to see her. I have some clothes here. Your- Mr. Graham brought them earlier this morning.”

“Will was here?”

“A couple hours ago; he left after leaving the bag at the nurses desk. I’ll just leave it here for you.” The nurse placed the bag of clothing on the little bedside table. “Press that call button when you’re ready for me to come and take you to see Dr. Bloom.”

Abigail rested her head against the headboard and took a deep breath before turning to look through the clothing.

-

_She was sitting up. Didn’t know how she was sitting up. Her head hurt. She tried to breathe - no, couldn’t breathe. Tubes. Oh, god. Something in her throat. Oh, god. She blinked. She could blink. Oxygen was filling her lungs - maybe she could breathe. She felt dizzy, but not for lack of air. The first tear rolled down her cheek. A torrent followed._

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep._

_There was a machine beside her. Green and blue and red flashing lights were all she could see by, and when she looked directly at them, the rest of the room went black. She stopped looking at them._

_BeepBeep BeepBeep BeepBeep._

_Where was she? She was in a bed. Soft sheets, tough blanket. Her hair was clinging to her face. She had to stop inhaling so hard. She was fine; she was exhausting herself._

_BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep._

_She had started the descent into panic, and there was little chance of climbing up now. She let it flow through her, let it consume her._

-

Abigail pressed the button - it made a little beeping sound that she tried to forget. She hummed to herself as she waited for the nurse to return, a distraction.

Will had brought her a dark blue blouse and light jeans. She could picture him searching her room, looking for something simple and nice. He had done well, but he had forgotten to bring any sort of sweater or jacket. Abigail wasn’t cold, but she often felt uncomfortable in short sleeves in public - casual, as though she belonged here. She didn’t want to belong here.

The nurse came, smiling again - perhaps she had never stopped. Abigail tried to smile back. A smile so fake it almost hurt. She imagined she looked pathetic. Regardless of how false she felt, the nurse didn’t seem to notice. She only held the door open to allow Abigail out before bouncing down the hall, leading the way.

The hospital was so bright - no natural light anywhere. All the windows were in the patient rooms. Some of the doors in the hall were open, and into these Abigail peered. Most were empty, some had families crowding and giggling with patients who sat up in their hospital beds.

The bleak scenes must be hidden by the thick white-washed doors - the rooms that were closed off from the prying eyes of those walking by.

Alana’s makeshift office was in a different wing. Abigail and the nurse passed a small cafeteria and walked down a hallway lined with paintings. Most looked like they had been done by children. Sick kids, Abigail realized. Ethan, Sandy, Tammy. How many of these childishly scrawled names were living a normal life right now?

The office wasn’t so much of an office as it was a small room with three chairs and one coffee table. Everything in the room sat low on the ground and was made of white plastic. Abigail thought back to Hannibal’s dark and impressively lavish office. This was on the other side of the spectrum.

Alana was on one side of the table. Abigail sat down across from her. The nurse left the two of them alone, closing the door behind her.

-

_Abigail picked up the bag of clothes that Alana had left. She sorted through. Everything there looked expensive. There were jackets and jeans and one skirt. She put that aside immediately. She picked up a green blouse, a bit lacy for her taste, but it would do. The jeans fit, surprisingly. The blouse was a little loose at the top, but nothing indecent. There was no mirror to look at herself in._

_She ruffled through the bag again, pulling out a scarf coloured in earth-tones. One hand came up to the bandage on her neck. She imagined the scar would be ugly. In one motion, she wrapped the scarf around her neck. She had never worn anything like it before._

-

“Hello Abigail,” Dr. Bloom said. It was warm; the smile felt genuine.

“Hi.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Alright. No nightmares, but it took some time. I guess I slept in? That’s probably a good thing.”

“It probably is,” Alana smiled. “Yesterday must have exhausted you.”  
Abigail looked up, made eye contact. Alana wasn’t going to play delicate with her. She was going straight for the answers she wanted. Abigail admired the tactic - it felt like respect. Watching and waiting as people tiptoed around her made her feel aggressive.

“It was tiring, yeah. Emotionally draining.”

“I can only imagine. It was quite a lot to go through in one night.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Abigail wanted to be honest. She did. She was tired. She didn’t want to be here anymore. “I guess I was just trying to save Will.”

“Why did Will need saving?”

“I think I wear him down. I didn’t want - I wanted to help him before he needed to help me. I sort of fucked that up, though.”

“No, you didn’t, Abigail. You’re here to get help. The help you get here helps Will. What you have to realize is that what you feel is not always the truth. Will loves having you. You don’t hold him back.”

“How would you know that?”

“Abigail, trust me. I know him, and I know you, and I see the situation from an outside perspective. I know you already have a lot of guilt to deal with. Almost enough to make you crack, but you’re strong. You’re strong and you need to realize that you make people happy. You make Will happy.”  
Abigail sat still in the silence.

“Abigail. You need to be honest with me right now. You won’t lose anything by telling me the truth.” Alana paused. “Are you still in crisis?”  
Abigail said nothing, thought about it, really thought about it.

“No,” she said. Honest. Alana stared, gauging the truth. She must have been satisfied with what she found.

“I’m going to recommend that you and Will see a family therapist once a week. Something to keep you grounded. Something you will both have in common. I’ll send the referral, get them to work with you on feelings of guilt - both of you, actually.”

Abigail nodded. She was tired, she felt stupid, and she wanted to go home.

-

_The hospital was beginning to feel like home. It was the only home she had. The only bed that was hers. She had been moved around a few times. Different wards for different problems. She had a lot of problems._

_Hannibal visited her sometimes. He came and sat beside her bed and talked to her. He watched her sometimes, but she didn’t feel judged by it. She felt lighter with his eyes on her instead of the heaviness that came with anyone else. Will Graham’s gaze was weightless when it landed on her, but often he looked elsewhere when he spoke to her. It was something she was beginning to keep track of._

_Hannibal was a part of her, though. He was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She knew his voice - of course she did - but she knew he could have been calling for any number of reasons. It had only been shortly before he arrived at the house - he probably wanted to make sure her father was home. She knew the comfort that she took in his presence came from saving her life. She hadn’t felt it yet in the two times she had met Will. That might have been the fault of Freddy Lounds. Abigail did often think about what Miss Lounds had said. Insane. But wasn’t that what they would be calling her soon?_

_Still, first impressions were difficult, and Abigail knew she should shake it off and allow any opinions and feelings to be built over time. It was easier said than done, but every damn person in this hospital was telling her how “strong” she was._

_She wondered, but nodded along none-the-less._

-

_She was holding on. She was giving everything she had in her to not let the black edges come. She stared into the eyes of the blood-splattered man above her._

_Where was her mother? Where was dad? Her eyes searched. She remembered gun shots. She had seen the man - the blood man - with a gun. He had it pointed at her. Did he shoot her? His hands were around her throat. Was he trying to kill her? Where was her dad?_

_The man’s eyes grew scared and the blackness spread. Dots became black holes that swam across her vision. She had read once that if you looked at the sky and didn’t focus, you could see proteins swimming across your eyes. Was that what these were? Just proteins. Swimming. She was swimming. His hands were choking, prodding. Then another man was in her quickly limiting field of vision. He was nice, clean, applying hard, calm pressure to her neck. His eyes held sadness. He grabbed onto her hand._

_She knew in that moment that her father was dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now only the final chapter lies in wait to be posted. Any and all comments are welcome as I go into the final editing stage of the remainder of this tale. Thank you, lovely people, for reading!


	6. Come On It's Time to Go

Will waited for Abigail in her room. She didn’t expect him, but she wasn’t surprised to see his slumped figure in the chair beside the bed. Through the small window in the door, she skimmed the room for Hannibal, but she couldn’t see him. Just Will, then.

Abigail scuffed her shoes as she entered, not wanting to startle him. Will looked up, his expression going from dark to neutral. She gave a half-smile. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hi.” He paused, searching for the words. “They want you to come home tomorrow,” he said. Abigail watched him immediately cringe. However he had expected the words to come out was clearly not how they had arrived. Abigail felt sorry for him, felt sorry in general. She nodded and strained to keep her expression emotionless. 

She looked down, fidgeting with her nails. She wanted to go home, but she was afraid of the demons she would find there. Dr. Bloom had prescribed an anti-anxiety medication and had planned to meet with Abigail once a week for the first month for re-evaluation, and then there was the family counseling that Abigail had agreed to. She was informed that Hannibal had promised to take care of that. The idea was comforting, if nothing else.

Will was still watching her. She smiled, this time showing teeth. She wanted to see his. She wanted him to stop feeling so worried and become the predator that Hannibal saw in him. 

She wanted to find the same danger in him that kept her alive. 

- 

_It was after midnight. Abigail couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts were an endless whir of destruction. Every move, every play she had ever made had only led to the death of some moment - the loss of one experience for another. She had disappointed every person who knew her, crushed every expectation they had for her.  And her brain would not shut up about it all._

_No wonder her father hated her. She could never do anything right. Now danger was all that was keeping her alive. Flawed, how very flawed._

_She had disassembled her razor and was drawing the blade across her shoulder, watching blood cascade down like makeshift wings, folded and resting. Flight would come later._

- 

She was sitting on her bed when he knocked. This time it was her who was waiting for him. She liked being in control of the situation. The few things she owned were back in the white plastic bag. She had her coat and shoes on. She was ready to leave. 

He looked over her, the tug of a smile pulled at his lips before he held out his hand to help her lift off the bed. She smiled too, then. 

Everything about the ride home was familiar, and simultaneously different. Will had the radio on this time. News, Abigail noticed, and wondered what kind of music he liked.

“Can I change this?” She asked. Will looked away from the road to see what she was indicating, and when he realized she meant the station, he nodded quickly, smiled for real this time. 

“‘Course.”

Abigail didn’t know what station played what, so she flicked through the numbers until she found one that was playing something familiar. 

“Radiohead,” Will called it. “You like these guys?”

“I guess,” Abigail said. “My dad hated anything like this.” Will froze, but Abigail continued to absently drum the beat on her leg. 

Will began to hum along a little too, and in that moment everything that seemed familiar became fresh and new and bright. 

_Nice dream_ , the song chimed out, _nice dream_. 

- 

_Her father had barged into her room as Abigail stared herself down in the mirror. The blood had reached her fingertips and was dripping down to the floor. Abigail thought she had never looked so perfect in all her life._

_Her father had run to her, kneeled beside her, tugged her down. His hands were covered in blood now too - her blood. It looked so natural on him. Not pretty, like on her, but like it belonged there. She knew he thought so, too._

_“What have you done? What have you done?” He put her face in his hands. She felt the stickiness of her blood. “We’ll fix this. We’ll hide this. Your mother won’t know, no one will know. Jesus Christ, Abigail. What have you done?”_

- 

Abigail turned slowly around in her room. It was different. The walls were a deep purple. Will had finally painted. The bedspread was new - patterns in blue and purple criss-crossed over the duvet cover. Abigail smiled.

“It’s perfect.”

“You think so?” Abigail nodded. Just nodded. Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The floorboards creaked. Abigail sat down on her bed. She felt stunned. It was different enough to not be clouded immediately with memories, but she still had to be careful - monitor her thoughts. 

She smiled up at Will. “Thank you. Thank you for this.”

“Not a problem,” he said. She saw the truth. He was happy to have done this for her. 

This connected them. 

- 

_Abigail wore long sleeves for weeks, even in the heat. Not one of her peers asked. No one payed enough attention to notice._

_Her father noticed. She could feel him staring at her arms at the dinner table. At first she assumed it was out of concern, until she realized it was all jealousy. She was able to do something that he could not, would not do._

_They were bound, for one moment, by a shared desire to take her life. A mistake of a moment._

_This connected them. But it also drove Abigail into the depths of herself, away from him. A place where she suddenly knew everything about him, and she wished she didn’t._

- 

“You ready?” Will called as he pulled on his jacket. Abigail emerged from her room, scarf around her neck, jacket buttoned tight. 

“Absolutely,” she said, and followed Will out to the car. 

They arrived at Hannibal’s office early, sat in the waiting room in silence until the door opened. As they entered, Will peeled off his jacket, hung it on the stand. Abigail watched him and realized she should do the same. 

She was wearing a blouse. Again, she felt the uncomfortable feeling of being exposed, of being too casual. She crossed her arms over old scars and didn’t realize that Hannibal was watching her. 

She hated feeling vulnerable by something that was so easy for other people. The difference, she felt, was in what she had to hide. But the memories were old and fading, and visibly so to all who glimpsed them.

The meeting was smooth. Uneventful. Abigail felt calm around the two people who cared for her - even if Will’s love came in a different form than she had ever experienced. She always had Hannibal’s familiar brand of care on speed dial in her cell phone. 

As they sat, making what felt like average conversation, Abigail caught Hannibal staring at her, staring at her arms before she pulled them close to herself protectively. Hannibal looked up, then, and smiled. 

And Abigail smiled back. Old scars. Secrets shared. But she was done with that. She had learned better, now.

She knew right then that she was going to be okay.

-

Before. It was not a different time; it was another life. The young girl who had asked her father to read bedtime stories and check under the bed for monsters was gone. 

She would never rely on another person for her own happiness again, not completely. She was going to find the good in the world - she was already seeing flashes of it, like seeing colour for the first time. She tasted it when Hannibal prepared her favourite meals; saw it when Will played board games with her, texted her to ask how she was doing. Felt it when they told her they were _proud._

She had allies and parents and trust and responsibilities and music and breakfast for dinner and purple walls and love. Real love. Real happiness.

She was hatching from an egg and experiencing the world anew. No longer a magpie, but some original, one-of-a-kind bird with large wings and colour changing feathers.

And she was going to be glorious.


End file.
